Rolling
It’s the roar of an airplane, I imagine, lost behind those big menacing clouds. But it isn’t. What I’m hearing is thunder. Low, uninterrupted thunder.
I’m waiting for the girls in our local mall’s parking lot. The minutes pass—five, ten, fifteen. The sound rolls and rolls and never pauses, not for a single second. It lingers, stuck, like some broken organ key.
There’s no lightning, and there’s no rain.
Only wind.
Only thunder.
iPhone+Hipstamatic
